BIBLIOGRIND

“[Anthony] was wondering at the unreality of ideas, at the fading radiance of existence, and at the little absorptions that were creeping avidly into his life, like rats into a ruined house. He was sorry for no one now — on Monday morning there would be his business, and later there would be a girl of another class whose whole life he was; these were the things nearest his heart. In the strangeness of the brightening day is seemed presumptuous that with this feeble, broken instrument of his mind he had ever tried to think.”